


You're an Asshole but I Love You

by Myceratops



Series: When a Humble Bard Took Over a Fandom (along came these fics) [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ciri has the braincell, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt is going to be a dick for a bit, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myceratops/pseuds/Myceratops
Summary: Jaskier may never had sought Geralt out, but he still tried to keep tabs on him, a muse is a muse not matter if they hated you after all but the White Wolf has not been seen for months when he runs into him again. Or more speficlly Geralt tries to run away as quick as possible and he'd let him go except for one little medium sized issue. At least he can say for sure he's not sticking around for the Witcher but who is he kidding?aka; Jaskier can be useful too but that doesn't stop him from getting nearly killed everyday, at least Ciri likes him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: When a Humble Bard Took Over a Fandom (along came these fics) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644844
Comments: 3
Kudos: 82





	You're an Asshole but I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> forgive me loves, no beta, apologies for mistakes

_ Two weeks _ . Two weeks before Geralt even entertained the idea that something was amiss. Perhaps a bit less or more than that, his traveling companion's insistent caterwauling has the occasional side effect of making the days on the road mesh together. Never was important to keep track when the Witcher had a seemingly permanent migraine, three guesses to what, or who is responsible.

Geralt takes another deep pull from his tankard as the tavern is filled again with yet another high melodic note.

The first two guesses don't count.

Geralt can practically feel the figurative slap upside his head Jaskier would give him as if the bard knew he was not being a decent storyteller, not that he was anything other than brief on the details.

Guess there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.

_ Fuck. _

\---

  
  


_ Not the closest _ . He ignores the tittering itch in favour for the much more preferable voice of reason, Geralt pointedly focuses on that line of thought. The chill in the air is starting to set in, Cirilla’s shivering has welcomed frost onto the girl’s clothes. If decades of traveling with non-witcher companions has taught him anything, he is grateful to know that Ciri is more susceptible to the cold. Less grateful that it is a current problem. Fucking hell.

Ciri does a full body jerk at the distant howl that distracts her from her previously steely-eyed gaze centered on Geralt setting up the threadbear campsite. Geralt exhales briefly with something other than apathy, but that is more than enough for Ciri to whip her head back around, eyes the sharpest of any knife.

Ciri’s lips thin, enough to make her displeasure obvious “You aren't more alert at the sound of howling?”

“Full moon is three days away,” is the answer she gets. Ugh.

Ciri scowls, her boots are soaked and her hair is a mess, she won’t give up on the chance to at least rest under a semi-stable roof. It has been nearly a month of sleeping next to Roach after all, the mare might be warm but the foliage that pokes through Geralt's only bedroll might very well drive her mad. She very purposefully does a full body shake, chattering her teeth for extra emphasis. The man doesn’t even look up.

“I’m cold,”

“Hm,” Scratch the weeds clinging to her cloak, it will be the lack of conversation that will take her mind first. Ciri pouts and spends the next couple hours silently watching Geralt skin and spear a rabbit for the spit. It’s not much meat but she’s survived on much less for much longer. Eventually her attention moves to drawing swirls in the dirt with a nearby twig.

She starts slightly when the fire pops, stick cutting a jagged line through the wavy illustrations but she doesn’t pay it any mind cause something infinitely more fascinating is happening.

_ Geralt is humming. _

He doesn’t look like he’s aware of the wide blue eyes on him, absently turning the hare to a different side. The hum is so quiet it dips in and out of her hearing but there is no denying the familiar tune.

Geralt instantly stops, face pulling down into a sevre scowl when a lighter hum joins his, head whipping up to stare at a guilty small face. “Sorry,” she whispers and his face softens into something less angry “I didn’t know you listened to those songs,”

“I don’t,”

“Oh,” there’s another minute of quiet before Ciri decides she wants to hear something other than the crickets and occasional howl “I haven’t heard that one since by tenth birthday,” she smiles sadly “Had to spend all of the next morning bribing the guards to open the stocks after my Grandma threw Jaskier in-” she yips in surprise as the rabbit falls directly into the burning logs. Geralt curses and pulls it back out, the thing only has a little ash on it.

Ciri stops reminiscing after that and resigns herself to another night of grunts when he clears his throat awkwardly and without meeting her eyes asks “Jaskier?”

“Hmm,”

“Hm,”

The next couple days before they reach town are somehow more tense. She amazingly finds out why once they step through an inn away from the cold.

From outside the inn Ciri can hear the noises of life and merriment before they’ve even opened the doors and it makes her wary. Drunks are singing. They are hardly three steps through the threshold when Ciri bumps into Geralt’s back, her nose smarting on his armor. To her surprise Geralt turns back around and quickly tries to usher her back into the frigid air, his face almost looks panicked and that sets Ciri on edge. Has he stopped Nilfgaard soldiers?

“Geralt?” She asks worridly, the music has stopped and a drunk yells somewhere further in to ‘keep fucking playing!’.

“We are leaving,” he says, and she sputters.

“What about-?”

She stumbles after him to the stables where the stableboy hadn’t even finished removing Roach’s saddle “We can rent a room at the next town,”

“What-”

_ “Is my singing truly that horrendous, Witcher?” _ Geralt freezes at the bitter voice coming from the opening of the stables, Ciri however turns around as fast as she can. A brightly dressed man in leaning dramatically against one of the walls  _ “Running away at the mere sound of it?” _

“Jaskier?!”

“Wait what- _ oof _ -” The bard smacks his head against a wooden pole when she launches herself into his arms. “Fuck what the hel _ lllll, Geralt?”  _ Her arms are wrapped tight around his neck and her face is smashed into his chest. “Who the-” Ciri leans back and there are tears in her eyes and a wobbly smile “Oh,”

“Jaskier,” Geralt practically growls his name and Jaskier tears his wide eyes away from the blonde hanging off him to gape at the other man.

“Ahh…” his mouth flops open and shut a few times before whispering a low but serious “Follow me,” and without another word, arms fully of Lion Cub of Cintra he dashes back off to the inn, Geralt cursing at his heels.

_ “They’re all dead, Jas,” _ a small voice chokes into his doublet.

He puts a hand on the back of her head, ignoring the cheers of his inebriated fans when he strides back to the inn, making a beeline to a room upstairs “Shh, shh darling,” Its a small room, with a small bed which he places her down on and without taking his hands away moves to rest them on her shoulders.

“Cirilla,” he whispers reverently, and a hand is wrenching him back by his shoulder, shoving him into the wall. “Ow! Tactful as ever Geralt,”

“Geralt!” Ciri does hesitate to give the Witcher a solid kick to the shin, he does wince “Stop it!” Geralt is breathing hard, eyes darting between the other two before the wild look in his eyes fades, the frazzled picture he makes however stays.

“Shit,” he curses, turning to Ciri “Are you alright?”

The girl growls angrily “Of course I’m alright! Let him go!” Geralt realizes he’s holding the bard against the wall with one hand on a death grip in the front of his clothes, Jaskier is looking at him like he’s got three heads, his grip loosens.

“Oh,”

The bard shifts “Geralt?”

“Jaskier,”

“ _ You’re still grabbing me _ ,” and with that Geralt lets go like the vivid clothing was a hot iron and steps back. Jaskier brushes off imaginary dirt and his hands tremeble as he straightens his shirt “Still a brute I see, Its lovely to see you too, I have a few questions, but first-” A fist slams into his nose and Geralt hears the crack “ _ Fucking hell is your face made out of stone?! _ ”

Geralt doesn’t blink “I think you broke your thumb,”

“Oh fuck you!”

A cleared throat has them both looking at Ciri, who is still glaring at Geralt “You aren’t allowed to kill him,” she demands. “Or I’ll scream until your brain bleeds out of your eyes,”

“...Wow,”


End file.
